


Eight Men Out

by cofax



Series: This is Not Wartime [3]
Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: AU, Apocafic, Gen, This is Not Wartime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-09
Updated: 2010-03-09
Packaged: 2017-10-07 20:00:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/68720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cofax/pseuds/cofax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What do you miss the most after the end of the world?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eight Men Out

"Horror movies," Benson is saying as Sam returns from the latrine. So to speak: it's a   
hole, and it will be reburied when they move again.

The colonel allowed a fire tonight, for morale more than anything else. Benson, Kal, and   
Patel are hunched around it, poking at the flames. Teal'c is on perimeter duty, as are the   
two young Guardsmen Sam still can't tell apart. They're too young, too enthusiastic, too   
angry.

There's an empty spot on the log next to O'Neill. She sits down, her hip brushing his   
where he sits with his back to the fire. He looks over his shoulder at her, and then out at   
the forest around them.

They moved camp today, again. All the while she could feel the pressure from O'Neill,   
the fear they wouldn't move fast enough, that they'd leave evidence behind, that the Jaffa   
would track them. He was short with them all, snappish and cold -- except with Teal'c,   
whose expertise they need more than ever now.

Teal'c, who is exiled here for good, now the gate is gone. She should talk to him about it;   
but then she never really talked to him about his coming to Earth in the first place. And   
he's not much of a talker. Neither is she, anymore. What is there to say?

 

The colonel's hip and shoulder are warm next to her. She does not lean against him, and   
instead picks up her own stick to poke at the tiny fire, listens to Benson and Kal argue   
about movies.

"No, no, you don't get it," insists Benson, a tall and athletic ex-cop they picked up outside   
Harper's Ferry. "They're like comfort food, like mystery novels. You can always tell   
who's gonna die. I'd rent three on my days off, and lay there on the couch with a bag of   
SmartFood and a six-pack of Molson--"

Kal shrugs. "Nah. I can't handle the gore," he says, and Sam smiles at the irony: Kal's   
better at hand-to-hand than everyone but Teal'c. "I like James Bond, though. Fun, and the   
women are always hot." His hands draw curves in the firelight, the flickering shadows   
crossing his face.

Benson snorts. "What about you, Major?" she asks across the fire. "What's your favorite   
kind of movie?"

Sam carefully relocates an ember from the edge of the fire, where it was greying and   
cooling, back to the center, and watches it redden. She shrugs, and thinks, reluctantly, of   
the Rockies game they took Teal'c to last year. Daniel spilling Jack's beer; Jack stealing   
Sam's garlic fries; the three of them trying to explain the infield fly rule to Teal'c.   
"Baseball movies," she says finally. "Bull Durham, Eight Men Out, The Natural. I like   
baseball movies."

The log jostles as the colonel swings his body around to face the fire. He cocks his head   
at Sam, a smile hiding deep in his bristles. And there's a flash of recognition in his eyes   
as they meet hers, some warmth that wasn't there before.

"Yeah," the colonel says slowly. "Baseball."

END


End file.
